Firsts
by Erythros
Summary: His many firsts. It always starts with the small things. Len/Hino


**FIRSTS**

**Summary:** _His many firsts. (It always starts with the small things.)_

**Pairing: **Tsukimori Len/Hino Kahoko

**Author's Notes: **Inspired by lying in bed a little longer before I got up, and the fact that there must be more Len/Hino fics stories out there. Heee. This, again, is based on the events of the manga, most of which we all know were included in the anime, but _some _of which weren't, which is sad, because GAH, they were priceless Len/Hino moments—like the amusement park date, the walk home, the concert they both attended, the hand touching, etc. Yeahhhh. And the new chapter's come out, too, and it seems to promise us of a, ahem, confession in the next one. :D Anyway, for those who haven't read the manga, the departure I meant here is Len's departure for Europe. See, as of the present in the manga, he has plans of going abroad at the end of the year. Basically, most, if not all, the events I highlighted in this story actually do happen, except for the last part where I tweaked things to my satisfaction, because, well, the latest chapter merely ends with "Hino". Haaaaahaha.

**&&&**

**Gold.**

The first time he _looked _at her—_acknowledged _her, rather—she had been bathed in the light of sunset. She was standing outside, her eyes wide with something he couldn't quite place, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why he couldn't have shooed her away. But then again, she had said his music was beautiful. _(Beautiful.) _She had told him that with such honest eyes.

His face had warmed; it was the first time he ever felt like he was almost able to reach his parents' music.

**Spring.**

His head was resting on her shoulder when he had stirred awake; his fingers were wrapped around her thin wrist. The world was quiet, and she was still asleep. _(But his pulse had quickened, and every beat slammed against his chest.)_

He left the school shivering from the fall breeze.

It was the first time he'd ever lent his jacket to a girl; the next time he wore it, it smelled faintly of flowers.

**Audience.**

She had taken to practicing on the school's rooftop during lunchtime, and over and over again, the wind would bring a bit of her music to his ears. _(Just a bit, just a bit—always just _teasing_ him.)_ There was _something _strange about her and her music; yet, he ached to hear just a bit more, _always _just a little _more_. She was his direct opponent, and yet, he _envied _her music—it was filled with the sincerity that was always lacking in his.

The first time she mastered Chopin's _Etude in E Major, _he had been there: right behind the door that led back down to school, his eyes closed and his heart calmed at the sound of her violin.

**Duet.**

The first time they played together, it had been under the stars, beneath the moon. (_And she glowed and looked almost unreal in the light._) She was barefoot as she was in the first round, but her music shone, and he had been drawn to its sound. _Ave Maria. _He could tell it was her favorite piece; as she drew the bow across the strings, he wondered if it was because of him.

And as the last note faded into the evening, he then wondered if it was because of _her _that he had just played as he did.

**Hands.**

The first time he held her hand, he was the one who had offered _his. _Frightened and jumpy, she hadn't even been aware that she had been holding onto his arm halfway through the Haunted House; before they both knew it, he had stretched out his hand, and told her to take it. He hadn't even blushed.

The next time their fingers touched, his skin felt warm. The next time after that, when _she _took his, his heart had skipped a beat. _(And he knew she was special.)_

**Wish.**

Tsuchiura had been one of the first people he'd told about his departure. _She _was never even going to be the last, because he'd hoped there could be a way not to tell her—because he didn't have to, because it wasn't her business (_because he couldn't face her, or the truth that he was leaving _her. _He didn't know _why_.). _

Suddenly time was getting shorter, and he wanted to hear her. Often. Always. _(Forever, perhaps.)_ The next time that he saw her, he offered to help her with her violin.

"_Do your best" _spilled from his mouth; it was the first time he'd hoped so hard for someone else to catch up to him.

**Routine.**

The first time he walked her home after their lesson, he merely thought it was his responsibility, his way of making up for the other time when he had been late and had kept her until evening. He'd never done this before, so he had told her, and he _wanted _to do it because he felt he _had _to—almost desperately, even, that his cheeks had flamed and his hands had quivered.

The first time he walked her home, it had been awkward—because he didn't know whether or not to go ahead of her, keep at her side, or traipse along behind her, and it felt like _hours _of walking because she didn't speak at all. It had been funny, though, when her stomach grumbled, and a detour was made to the convenience store. It was the first time he'd eaten buns, too.

But all too soon, they were at her house, and he had begun to walk away. When she called out his name, and he had turned his head to look back, his heart swelled. The image of her smiling and waving at him was imprinted in his memory, and he didn't know if he was happy or sad.

He could do this every day. _(Every day, with her.)_

It was the first time he didn't want to leave at all.

**Heartbreak.**

When he had finally told her he was leaving, she had been dressed prettily, in shoes that hurt her feet, with her unruly hair kept neat in a ribbon.

He'd seen how her smile froze, how her eyes softened, how her voice, so excited and cheery before, faintly seemed to break. _(Something ached dully in his chest, and he had turned away.)_

Hours later, when he played _Ave Maria _on his violin, it was the first time he thought it sounded incomplete. Like it was missing its half, that had given it so much life—that the only way to play it was as a duet; nothing more, nothing less.

**Happiness.**

The next time they were alone, she had come to tell him she was happy for him. Happy that he was one step closer to his dream, that he was going _for _his dreams, and that she was going to be _here, _supporting him fully because he was someone important to her. _(He was important to her.)_

His eyes had widened almost imperceptibly _(his heart was a flurry of emotions, but he was happy, _happy_)—_

"Hino."

He had pulled her into him then, folding his arms around her. The room was lit gold, the world was quiet, and she smelled like spring. Hours from then, he would feel embarrassed that he had been so impulsive, but, at that moment, he didn't care; couldn't care less at all, because he _was happy and sad, nervous and regretful all at the same time._

He _loved _her.

It was the first time he had ever fallen in love, and he held her closer, closer, as her fingers clutched at his jacket and didn't let go.

**end**


End file.
